Dead Shifter Walking (9 page)

My watch alarm woke me up at 9 a.m. My body was
demanding more rest, but I had to deny it. The scalding hot shower
helped loosen up my left side, but it was still sporting ugly
yellow bruises that only renewed my plans to kill Steven. What I
had seen last night as a gash on my left leg was now a thin scab
running its length, causing me some discomfort as I got ready to
face this day.

Dressing in my working leathers, I called the
manor from a coffee shop five blocks away from my hotel.

“Grams,” I said.

“Olie,” she responded distractedly.

“First, I need a car, preferably Jerry, sent to
the address I texted you with an extra phone and gun. Second, call
Kass and tell her plans have been moved up. Third, no shifters are
to be trusted with the exception of Darren,” I said, leaving no
room for argument.

“Understood,” Grams said. “Are you—”

I hung up on her; she was going to ask if I was
okay. I sighed, drinking my overpriced coffee. What did she expect
me to say? Yep, I’m great, had a hit taken out on me, some gnarly
bruises, and now I potentially have a whole new list of people I
needed to kill. Yep, I am fucking fabulous.

I was trapped in a deep, dark pit of
self-loathing, one I knew all too well. I had long ago given up on
ever climbing to my freedom; instead, I distracted myself by
throwing myself into one life-threatening situation after another.
If I were honest, brutally honest, I would look forward to the day
when the knife was true, a bullet my last sensation, and death was
my next big life move, not marriage and kids. How fucked was that?
The sick part was that I felt sure I deserved to never ever be
happy. Not after everything I had done, not after the blood that
coated my blades, not after the decisions I had made; happiness was
not destined for me.

I wanted to push those emotions down deep but I
didn’t have the energy or reason to. Instead, they lingered just
beneath my skin, sealed from the outside world but raging inside. I
took another sip of the coffee as “The Beast” pulled up. I wanted
to smile but didn’t have it in me.

Opening the passenger door, I gave Jerry
directions to the police station. I still had a date with
Mercer.

Thankfully, Jerry wisely didn’t say a word more
than to acknowledge my directions. Either Grams had warned him or
he picked up on my obvious body language. I had a tentative
relationship with him at best; given my current mood, I could ruin
the entire thing, and it had been a long time since I had
companionship on my treks. Did it really matter, I questioned
myself, given that in a few days or weeks, I would likely be gone
again for who knew how long and forgotten, except, of course, for
my legendary itch to kill.

Pulling into the rain-dampened parking lot, I
turned to Jerry. “In or out?” I asked.

“Out,” he responded, playing with the radio. I
hopped out and stood there a moment debating if I should say
anything else. I wanted to say I was sorry for my misery and
dragging him down and that it was probably best if he got himself
out of this now. I closed the door instead, zipped my jacket, and
added a few notches to my self-hatred, forcing my emotions within
the boundaries of my skin.

At 9:45 a.m. I sat at Mercer’s desk, waiting and
staring at my bruised hands holding my warm coffee. I could feel my
emotions cooling, and it left me with a sick, empty feeling.
Feeling something was better than the empty pit of desolation that
was closing me off.

At 10:00 a.m., Mercer interrupted my brooding by
stealing my coffee. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fee for parking your ass where it doesn’t
belong,” he said, sporting a dark blue jacket and matching pants
that set his platinum blond hair off nicely.

I almost smiled, but it came off as a smirk.

“Let’s go,” he said, moving away from the
desk.

I moved along after him, stuffing my now empty
hands in my jacket pocket, feeling my restlessness on a new level.
Mercer was a particular hard ass, and yes, I really did mean that
in the physical and literal sense. While he portrayed the ultimate
soldier, ready to carry out any order quickly and efficiently, I
couldn’t shake the notion he had majorly pissed off his superiors
by following his own moral code. After all, he was currently
saddled with this case and with me.

The police station was decorated worse than most
public schools, florescent lighting complemented by equally glaring
linoleum and never-ending hallways. We finally arrived at the
correct door.

Mercer ushered me into the conference room,
containing a well-dressed man and woman sitting at the table.

“Mrs. Hatcher, Mr. Lowery,” Mercer greeted,
“thank you for coming down here today under these circumstances.
“

“Whatever we can do to help, Mr. Mercer,” said
Mrs. Hatcher. Her dark brown hair was styled in an adorable perfect
bob. Pearls around her neck contrasted nicely with the black
scooped neck dress. Her white-tipped nails tapped rhythmically on
the faux wood table.

“Yes, Mr. Mercer, how can we help?” Mr. Lowery
spread his large and slightly chubby hands wide. His balding head
reflecting the light and his glasses reflecting Mercer’s face, he
was also well dressed in a black pinstripe suit and navy tie.

Mercer opened his file. “Is there anything you
can tell us that would shed light on why your spouses were
targeted?” he asked, diving into the heart of the matter.

They were the husband and wife of the brother
and sister found dead in the house. They both said no. Mercer tried
again. “Did you notice anything suspicious, any unusual behavior
from your spouses?”

Again, nothing useful.

“What was the relationship like between Jane and
her son?” I asked.

They both shared a look, before Mrs. Hatcher
answered. “It was fairly rocky up until about a month ago; then
suddenly, he was the perfect child. Did everything Jane said with
no complaints, talking back, or problems with the law.”

“I think something she was working on helped,”
added Mr. Lowery.

“What did she do?” Mercer asked.

They both shrugged. “She was very secretive;
said it was vital for everyone’s safety,” answered Mrs.
Hatcher.

“We never gave it much thought, honestly,” said
Mr. Lowery. “We never imagined…” his voice trailed off as he
lowered his head. He never imaged someone would reach out and claim
the lives of those he loved. Mrs. Hatcher reached over and squeezed
his hand.

“If we are done Detective?” she asked, equally
as upset.

Mercer nodded, getting up to hold the door for
them.

I settled back against the black plush chair,
thinking.

Mercer came back, collecting his paperwork.

“So,” I said in an annoyed tone, standing up
into his personal zone, “where did Jane work at?”

Mercer shrugged. “Back to digging; this case
isn’t going to be easy.”

With that, he was gone.

I made my way back to the Beast and Jerry,
unsure of what my next move would be as I climbed into the
passenger seat again.

“Where to now?” Jerry asked, turning down the
volume on the station he was listening to.

I shrugged, not making eye contact.

“Well, in that case,” he said, pulling out of
the police station and towards the busy city, “I have an idea.”

I didn’t bother to ask where; I didn’t really
care. I had time to kill, a red tape nightmare preventing me from
properly doing my job, and a sick sinking feeling in my gut.

I watched the horizon with an empty mind as my
subconscious worked on problems even it couldn’t figure out.

When we pulled into a mall, I asked,
“Lunch?”

Jerry smiled. “Absolutely, then we are going to
update that horrific wardrobe.”

I looked at him, taken off-guard. “Shopping?
Really?” I questioned.

“Yes,” he answered, coming around the SUV to
help me out. “Now, my dear, let’s go. I’ve been given full
permission by Grams to buy anything I see fit.”

I laughed, closing the passenger door, hiding my
hands in my jacket pockets from the chilly wind. “Anything?” I
asked, wanting to push this issue.

“Anything for you,” he amended, adjusting his
suit jacket.

I raised an eyebrow. “Come on I’m sure we can
find something for your trouble of playing personal shopper
today.”

He linked his arm with my own as we walked
uphill to the cream and green building.

We had just settled with our salads and pizza
when a leather-clad group of demigods walked past our table. I
smiled at the leader, a tall Norse offspring with flowing blond
hair, chiseled features, and the body of a Viking warrior.

I watched playfully as Jerry observed,
star-struck. Finally regaining his composure, he pointed his salad
fork at me, claiming, “Looking that good should just be
illegal.”

I smiled. “Demigods,” I explained.

“Huh, how do you know?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Because they’re that good
looking.”

He laughed before we both dug into our food.
Truthfully, it was a little more complicated than just the look.
Certain beings gave me feelings; over the years, I had identified
which gave what. It was my trusty sixth sense, so to speak. I never
delved too deeply into it, but it was handy when I needed to know
if wood or metal would be a better weapon.

Finishing our meal, Jerry took my arm again.
“Let’s get you dressed, my dear.”

I gave him a weak smile.

After a barrage of lingerie shops, where Jerry
completely disregarded my opinion that I didn’t need anything
special or fancy in that area, I was finally able to get actual
clothing from him in the form of jeans and cotton t-shirts. I am
really not a complicated person.

I was perfectly content to leave at this point,
but Jerry cryptically shook his head. “I have been given specific
instructions that you are to have formal wear as well.” His smile
was evil, and I told him so.

But I couldn’t resist his boyish charm and joy
at having a living dress-up doll and unlimited spending.

In a store that was ridiculously overpriced, I
fell in love with a pink chiffon dress. Running my fingers over the
soft fabric, I dismissed it as foolish to spend that much.

Jerry had other opinions. “Oh, no you don’t, my
dear,” he said, pulling my size off the rack and pushing me into
the fitting room.

“Jerry, it really is too expensive,” I said,
trailing along behind him like a lost puppy.

He threw another four dresses into the fitting
room, giving me the “oh, please” look.

“Let’s get on with my fashion show,” he said,
settling into a chair in the hallway.

I laughed, shaking my head, saving the blush
pink dress for last.

The first of the dresses was a deep purple
strapless top transitioning into a neon blue with low waist and
dark purple beads as highlights. I exited the dressing room with my
hands on my hips.

“No freaking way,” I said.

“But Olie,” he said, “you look amazing.” He
turned me around.

I moved my feet as far apart as I could, which
was only about a foot. “Just how do you expect me to chase after
the bad guys with this wingspan?”

He laughed at my use of wingspan instead of
stride. “There someday may be an occasion when you won’t need to
chase bad guys,” he tried.

I huffed and went back to his other selections.
We ended up leaving with the pink dress and two black dresses, one
long and the other cocktail length. He didn’t let me see the total,
probably worried I would change my mind. He was right.

I wandered window-shopping at the salon next
door, pulling a dull-blonde lock of my own for inspection. As I let
out a discontented sigh, Jerry picked just that moment to notice my
dawdling.

He smiled, pulling me into the salon. A
bored-looking pink-haired overweight pixie greeted us. No, I do not
mean an actual supernatural pixie, but she had the typical
storybook tiny frame and delicate features.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

“No, do you have any openings?” Jerry asked,
smiling brightly.

She looked down at her book, flipping a page
with her turquoise nails. “Possibly. Give me a second,” she said,
picking up the phone.

Jerry and I moved a step back. My stomach
grumbled. He laughed. “After this, dinner, possibly at the same
pizza place.” I smiled.

“Sir,” the pixie said, “Rachel will see
you.”

Jerry smiled like a fool and pushed me ahead of
him. I plopped down in the chair and the flamboyant gay man with
thinning hair asked me, “What can I do for you, darling?”

I smiled. “Surprise me.”

That earned me raised eyebrows from both him and
Jerry.

A starving hour later, we emerged back into the
food court. Jerry was staring again.

“What?” I asked, debating how many slices of
pizza I wanted.

He turned back to the menu smiling wider if that
were possible.

I shrugged and played with my now
shoulder-length deep red, almost purple, hair littered with pixie
like layers that pointed out at random angels. It was better than I
ever could have described. That man had talent.

Well fed, well dressed, and well rested, we
headed back to the Beast, passing the demigods again. The Thor
look-alike was pulling a long drag on a smoke and I couldn’t help
but take a second look. He smiled, nodding approvingly at me.

“Nice hair, Kitten,” he complimented.

“Thanks,” I said passing him, “nice ass.”

The thunder of laughter followed Jerry and me to
the car where we proceeded, under his careful direction to load
everything in a manner I didn’t understand, but which he claimed
would keep everything important from wrinkling.

I sighed, arranging and rearranging as directed.
Suddenly, a slow feeling of discomfort made me look down the
parking lot towards the townhomes behind it. A creeping behind my
eyes distorted my vision slightly; I shook my head hoping to
dislodge it. My feet began moving on their own accord.